Stay
by writingmom
Summary: Just a little something that's been in my head. Re-write of ep when Mac leaves for Paraguay.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

Something's not right. She's either going on a date or to a funeral, and dressed like that, I'm not comfortable with either scenario.

"Harm?" She probably wonders why I haven't let her in.

"Sorry, come in."

She gives me a concerned look. We haven't had a chance to talk much since the whole Singer saga, and now that she's standing here in front of me, my body is reminding my head just how much I've missed her.

"Are you okay?" She reaches out and touches my elbow before removing her coat and finding her place on the barstool.

Wow. She looks stunning. I've never seen that dress before, black, v-neck, clinging to her in all the right places. I need to form a complete sentence, but those diamonds…I don't remember seeing those before, either.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Well, I will be." I move to the refrigerator to grab a couple bottles of water. She motions that she's not interested, and then continues.

"I've been worried about you."

I don't want to talk about it, at least not right now, not when I get the feeling that there's something that she's going to tell me that isn't at all what I want to hear. I can't avoid the distraction of that necklace any longer.

"So, were you in the area? Big plans this evening?"

I can't help but focus on her skin in that dress. I have seen her in civvies before, and dressed up before. But tonight her skin is glowing and she looks vulnerable and strong and capable and all the things that I love about her.

She looks down at her hands. I don't like what's coming.

"Listen, I have to go away."

I can barely hear her. She looks up, but tries to focus on anything but my face.

"How long?" I ask.

"Don't know."

"Where?"

"Can't say."

Dressed like that, these answers aren't helping.

"Is it dangerous?"

She lets out a deep breath. "Very."

"This has Webb written all over it."

I set my bottle of water down and lean onto the counter in front of her, in part to look in her in the eyes, in part to brace myself for what's coming next.

"There's…a case. He needed a wife."

I wonder if the look on my face is showing surprise or disgust. Or both.

She toys with the necklace before continuing. "He needed a wife that speaks Farsi." Finally she looks at me with apologetic eyes.

"I had to make sure that you were okay. You've been through a lot."

Before I know it, she's reaching for her coat and I'm moving around the counter to block her path.

"Mac, don't go." The words are out of my mouth before I knew what hit me.

She smiles that sad smile again, and grabs her coat to stand. I back away, but not much.

"We leave tonight. But I'll try to call when I get there."

As if that's supposed to make me feel better. Didn't she hear what I just said?

"Mac—"

She's smiling again, but it reminds me of the smile that she saves for me when we're joking around at the office.

"Why is it you're only like this when I have one foot out the door?"

She is walking toward the door, coat draped over her arm and I can't stand it.

"Why is it you always have one foot out the door?"

I said it. Her hand is on the knob and I can tell that I've gotten her with that one. This isn't a joke, now she gets it. I see her shake her head slightly before turning around.

"What did you say?"

My hands are shoved into my pockets as if for security, but I'm walking toward her, slowly. This could be dangerous.

"Mac, I don't want you to go. Please. Stay."

She is clearly confused. "Harm, I don't like leaving you right now, but this isn't a social call. It's work. With any luck it will be over soon and then I'll be home and we can catch up."

I nod my head. Suddenly I'm staring at the floor as if the words that I need will be written there for me to read. My feet are moving toward her again, and I can hear her breath catch in her throat.

We're inches apart. She is pinned loosely between me and the door. It's bold, I know, but I'm not letting her walk out of here. Not like this. I look up from the floor and my hands move from the depths of my jean pockets to cradle her elbows ever so gently.

"You didn't answer my question." It's almost a whisper, but the thought of her leaving with Webb has somehow threatened to steal my voice along with any shred of strength I thought I still had.

The usual look of competence has left her face and I can see that this is unfamiliar territory for her. "You didn't answer mine." She breathes gently, as her eyes lock with mine in a vain attempt to convince us both that she's in control.

"Why, Harm. Why are you only like this when I have one foot out the door?"

I don't respond.

"Your interest always fades when I might actually be in a position to return it."

"Are you? In a position to return it? Because I'm not running, Mac. I'm right here. And I'm tired of this dance."

My hands have left her elbows and my touch is not as innocent. I find myself gently stroking her arms, traveling from her hands up to her shoulders, resting near her neck. I lift a finger and barely trace the line of her jaw.

"Harm, I don't know what you're asking, but this really isn't a conversation that we can have when I'm leav—"

My lips are pressed against hers before she can finish the sentence. I don't want to hear it again, how we can't or shouldn't or couldn't. She inhales deeply, welcoming the sensation of our mouths fused together. My hands are cupping her face for dear life. We deepen the kiss, two willing participants, tired of letting words do all the talking.

It's too soon before I feel her pulling away. I close my eyes because I don't want to see it, that look in her eyes or the door being closed behind her.

She steadies her breathing, and reaches out to grip my arms, now pinned on either side of her.

"Harm, open your eyes."

I don't want to. I want to stay lost in the moment before it slips away. I don't want words to clutter the feeling like they have so many times in the past. I don't want to give her an explanation, because I don't have one. I've been through hell and I need her. For once in my life, it's that simple, but conveying that to her…I thought maybe the kiss would be enough.

"Harm—"

Finally I open my eyes and see her there, with a look I've never seen before. It's not anger, it's not fear. I can't explain it, but unless she's about to tell me she'll stay, the expression in her eyes doesn't matter a damn bit.

"I was scared for you. Worried about you. I wanted to see you, but the Admiral ordered us to stay away. And tonight…I couldn't just leave. I had to know that you're okay."

Is this sympathy that I'm getting? Does she think I'm reaching out because of the confusion and the hell that I've just gone through?

She continues. "And for the record, I don't have one foot out the door. Not anymore. But the job—" She lets out a long sigh.

"I have to, Harm. I have to go."

I shake my head in disgust. Here we go again. I'm ready, she's willing, but the timing isn't right. Damn Clayton Webb.

"When I get back…"

We're interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell phone from inside her coat pocket. She seems annoyed by the timing, refusing to answer it.

She leans up to place a final, lingering kiss onto my mouth.

"Bye." She whispers, and before I know it, she's gone. I should be happier. I think we just agreed to start something when she returns, but none of that matters, because Sarah Mackenzie just walked out my door, and something definitely does not feel right.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I didn't intend to continue on with this as I hate to commit to a story without being prepared to finish it in a reasonable amount of time. Plus, I never know where a story will lead and I wanted to avoid another shippery re-write of Paraguay. (Been there, done that.) This felt a little more angsty, but I know how we shippers love our fluff. So...here's a compromise. A slight continuance, but without the drawn-out drama of Paraguay. Thanks for the kind reviews. You convinced me not to leave it...yet. I just hope that I don't butcher it in the process.

* * *

"Sarah—"

"Hmm?"

"You haven't said two words the entire flight."

"Sorry. Just brushing up on my limited knowledge of diamonds in this book you gave me."

"You've been on the same page for an hour."

"Oh." She looked out the window again.

"Listen, if you're having reservations, you'd better tell me now. I chose you for this mission because I thought you were—"

"What, Webb? You thought I was what?"

"Strong."

"Don't worry. I won't screw this up for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mac hesitated. "It means that I'm beginning to wonder what kind of an agent needs a female attorney along to get the job done."

"You're a Marine, or have you forgotten? And think what you want, Sarah, but Sadik Fahd is no joke. We have to be prepared or he'll see right through us, and right now, you look anything but prepared."

"Oh really, and what exactly do I look like to you, Webb?"

"Like a teenage girl who just left her boyfriend at the prom. What is it, Rabb again?"

She sat up straight in her seat. "Do me a favor; don't pretend that you know me, okay? Our professional paths are crossing—for now. But don't you ever assume that my personal life is any of your business."

He smirked before resting his head on the back of the seat and closing his eyes.

Mac opened the book and began reading. Webb had a point. If her head wasn't in this, it could mean big trouble. She focused on the print in front of her and put all thoughts of Harmon Rabb in the back of her mind.

**Three days later**

Sleep eluded him. Once his head hit the pillow, images of Mac and Webb getting shot came flooding through his brain. He tossed and turned, clinging to his pillow for comfort but finding instead more anxiety with each passing night.

He thought back to the night that she left. He was surprised and relieved to see her, but had no idea that he would have opened up the way he did. It wasn't planned, his words or the kiss. It just happened, caught them both off guard but he had no regrets.

He wondered what she was thinking, if she missed him or if she was too wrapped up in the job to give him a second thought. Had she begun to question it all, his sincerity, his timing? She said she would call and she did, but why only once? He closed his eyes again in an effort to find rest. Instead, the image of Mac screaming was all he could see.

It was the very next morning when the Admiral summoned him into his office, and the same feeling of dread welled deep within his stomach.

"Rabb. You look like hell. Come in. And close the hatch."

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Later that evening**

He sat in the darkness of his apartment, the Admiral's words still circling in his mind.

"They're missing, not much information, request denied…"

He couldn't believe that the Admiral would not let him go. With no leads, no idea as to where she might be, he was stuck. Clueless, helpless and utterly frustrated. Webb's mother had offered little help, other than to plant the seed that Webb might actually have feelings for Mac. The thought made him sick. Apples don't fall far from the tree, he thought to himself. One good spook deserves another.

The contacts that he had at the agency offered the usual response, using the word "classified" as if it were a paper that was lost instead of a human being. A woman, a Marine, a friend was missing somewhere on their watch, and nobody seemed to care.

He remained planted on his couch, staring at the moonlight that was beginning to stream through the windows. Mac hadn't answered her cell phone since she left and had only called him once. The feeling of total and complete helplessness was new territory for him; probably similar to what his mother felt when she learned of his father's disappearance.

He closed his eyes and folded his arms, leaning back into the cool leather of the couch hoping that rest would find him and that dreams would take him away from the madness that was becoming reality. Breaking into Webb's apartment seemed the next best way to get information, and he would do that when it was later, when the neighbors would be asleep and when no one was watching.

**Two hours later**

The key turned ever so slightly, allowing entrance for the one that closed the door cautiously behind. Walking quietly across the floor, she saw his large frame outlined by moonlight. Worry lines were etched on his face, the phone beside him on the couch.

She drew her fingers to her mouth, willing herself not to burst into tears. Dear God, she had missed him. The sound of Webb's screams haunted her; the smell of the jungle still invaded her senses. The redness of her skin still burned, but none of it mattered in this very moment. She had to get away, had to get home, to him. The rest would be dealt with later. And he would help her. Just like always.

She perched tentatively on the edge of the coffee table, watching him sleep, knowing that he was not at rest. She willed the tears away, and reached out to trace the outline of his face.

He awoke with a jerk, startled by the sensation, eyes wide in disbelief at the sight of her before him.

She smiled. He gasped.

"Mac—"

He pulled her tightly into his arms before she could speak. He felt the tension in her shoulders disappear. She felt frail, weak. He buried his face in the nape of her neck as she pulled him closer, stroking the back of his neck with her hand.

"You're here." He muttered over and over again. "Thank God. You're here."

He pulled back from the embrace to get a better look at her face, his thumbs caressing the scratch marks. Questions were forming in his mind, anger swirling in his eyes. But she was here, now. The questions would wait. She was tired, had been through her own version of hell he was certain.

He drew her mouth to his as he had wanted to so many times in the last several days. No inhibition, no need to discuss where they had left off or where they would begin. He needed to feel her, to taste her, to make sure that she was real. She welcomed the kiss as she had done before. Explanations and apologies would come later.

"I'm here." She whispered when the kiss was broken. "I'm here…to stay."

* * *

Fin!


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